


Parvus Obitus

by darnedchild



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cliche, F/M, Mostly Pwp, SUPER CHEESY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-03-31 18:06:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3987676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darnedchild/pseuds/darnedchild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Voldemort wants a potion made, and Severus is having difficulty finding the most important ingredient.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Volunteer

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this back in 2004, and it was the first SS/HG fic I'd ever written AND the first PWP/smut I'd ever attempted. Ever. It started as a one-shot and I was purposely going for the standard, overused Voldemort is an excuse for pwp sort of story, and the stupid thing got away from me. It ended up having six parts and a tiny smidgen of plot. Anyway, enough excuses, please enjoy.

  
  


**The Volunteer**

Albus Dumbledore looked across his desk at his agitated Potions Master. Snape ran a hand through his already messy black hair. His dark Death Eater robes made his skin seem paler than usual.

“Explain this potion to me again. I’m afraid it is not one I have ever heard mentioned before.”

Snape stood and began to pull off the dark robes; the very feel of them sickened him. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could pull off the spy routine. A large part of him wanted to pack up his lab and run. Only the knowledge that it would be impossible to escape the detection of both his masters kept him at Hogwarts. Dumbledore could be just as evil as Voldemort if he wanted to be, more so because he liked to pretend he was doing it out of love.

Snape tossed the offending robes onto the empty chair and began to pace.

“The _Parvus Obitus_. The Little Death. A small dose of the potion will drive the victim mad with lust. He or she would be willing to say or do anything for release.”

He stopped to face Dumbledore. “It can be a very effective way to attain information.”

Dumbledore nodded in understanding. “And a larger dose?”

“A larger dose will bring the victim to such an extreme state of arousal he can never be truly satisfied. Eventually, he will die in a mindless haze of sensation.”

Again, that infuriating nod. “Do you know what he plans on doing with this potion, Severus?”

“I did not ask.” Snape went back to his pacing.

“So.” Dumbledore ran a soothing hand down his beard and gathered his thoughts. “You have until Saturday to find the recipe and make the potion. I’ll arrange a meeting for the order, call back Harry and Ron from Auror training for the evening and we’ll go from there.”

“It is not so simple, Albus. I’m already familiar with the ingredients needed for the _Parvus Obitus_. I have most of them in my personal stores. It’s the last one that is going to cause a problem.”

“Stop being so dramatic, Severus. Tell me what the ingredient is and we’ll get it.”

Snape hated being chastised by the Headmaster. It always made him feel like a teenager. _Smug Bastard._

“Fine, Albus. I need the sounds of a virgin’s orgasm. Please be sure to let me know when you’ve found a willing donor, because I’m at a loss.”

– ~ – 

Snape managed to avoid the Headmaster the next day. He ate supper as quickly as possible, then rushed to the solitude of his office.

A small box was sitting on his desk when he entered the room. Snape cast a few spells to determine the box was harmless and carefully opened it. Inside was a wretched multi-colored knit scarf and a small note. Careful to avoid touching the hideous item, Snape pulled out the note.

Just as he suspected, Dumbledore was calling a meeting of the Order and the scarf was his port key.

There was a knock at the door. _Right on time, as always._

“Enter.” He hid a grin as his apprentice hurried through the door.

Her hair had fallen loose from its bun, again, and she was quite obviously out of breath. She had a note similar to his clutched in her hand.

“Professor Snape.” Her tone was polite.

Snape’s response lacked the friendliness of her greeting, but was still warmer than when she’d been a student. He would die before admitting it, but the know-it-all had blossomed into the very competent woman he enjoyed conversing with over a boiling cauldron. “Ms. Granger. I see you received your summons.”

She nodded, a worried look on her face. “Do you know what’s happening? Why are we being called?”

He dumped the scarf onto the desk. “I have an idea. Come on, must not keep Albus waiting.” He held out his hand and waited for hers to slide into it. He gripped her hand and reached for the port key.

– ~ – 

No matter how many times he and Ms. Granger had arrived at an Order meeting via port key in the two years since she’d become his apprentice, she still reacted like the experience was new.

He would take her hand, touch the port key and open his eyes at the meeting place to find her arms wrapped around him for balance as she fought not to be ill.

The first few times Snape had quickly stepped out of her embrace and demanded to know what she thought she was doing. She had turned green, and on one particularly memorable occasion brought up some kind of vile meat-like substance all over his shoes. Snape had learned to wrap a comforting arm around her until she felt well enough to step back.

The others in the Order had gotten used to the odd tableau and no one bothered to give them a second look.

Tonight was no different, although Neville Longbottom did stop to greet them as he headed toward the meeting room. “Professor Snape. Hermione.”

Snape nodded at the young man. Ms. Granger kept her forehead firmly planted under Snape’s chin and simply raised a shaking hand in acknowledgment.

After a few minutes she stepped back and offered a small, if slightly ill-looking, smile. “Let’s go.”

Snape allowed her to enter first. She found a seat next to Potter and Weasley. Snape stood in the shadows just behind the overstuffed chair holding Dumbledore.

Once everyone was present and accounted for, Dumbledore stood, arms out to indicate the need for silence.

“Voldemort has requested a new potion. One, I feel, that we should prepare ourselves for. Professor Snape will explain the details.

“Severus.”

Snape took two steps forward so that he was even with the Headmaster. He described the effects of the _Parvus Obitus_ potion and what chances, if any, someone would have in countering it.

Silence reigned until Weasley _Or was it Potter?_ uttered, “What a way to go.”

The tension broke and questions began to flood the room. Snape stepped back, happy to let Dumbledore handle the mob.

When silence again descended Dumbledore spoke. “Now, I must ask for a volunteer.” He held up a hand to quell the chorus of eager voices.

_It’s like watching a cult leader,_ Snape thought.

“Hear me out. Professor Snape assures me that the potion can be completed before Saturday’s deadline – if we can acquire the last ingredient. That is what you will be volunteering for.”

_My, a lot less eager now that they know who’s involved, aren’t they? It seems no one wants to be at the mercy of the greasy git._

“Severus. Would you please explain.”

_Me? Why me, you old goat?_

“As you wish.” No way was he moving out of the shadows for this. “The potion requires the sound of a virgin experiencing an orgasm. I can charm my wand to record the ... process and add the component at the correct time. There will be no need to interact with myself or my lab other than that.”

“Thank you, Severus. Well, any volunteers?”

Other than some low mumbling, no one spoke up. Everyone kept looking from face to face. Quite a few heads turned toward Neville, but he only flushed and muttered something about last summer and a picnic at the lake.

Snape smirked; somehow he’d known that asking a room full of war heroes to discuss virginity would be a bad idea.

The meeting went on for another twenty minutes, then people began to leave in small groups. It was better to apparate one or two at a time than to send out an alert to anyone who was looking for large concentrations of magic.

Dumbledore had asked him to wait, hopeful that someone would step up to volunteer in the end.

Snape watched Ms. Granger leave with Potter and Weasley. No doubt they would stop at the Leaky Cauldron before parting.

Dumbledore secured the house after everyone else had left. “You were right, Severus. This is going to be a problem.”

– ~ – 

By Friday afternoon Snape was getting desperate. The Dark Lord was expecting him to show up with the potion, and the excuse that no one was willing to volunteer was not going to work. Death Eaters took what they wanted, they didn’t look for volunteers.

A second-year Hufflepuff looked up, noticed Snape’s glare and quickly went back to his potion.

The problem wasn’t finding someone willing to be recorded during the throes of passion; money could buy anything these days. It was finding a virgin who would do it.

He’d tried explaining it to Ms. Granger the night before. She’d asked about his progress on the potion and he’d answered honestly. And a shade too bluntly.

She’d turned beet-red and changed the subject.

Snape’s unconscious smirk frightened the Hufflepuff, who’d looked up to see if he was still being glared at.

It took a lot to embarrass Ms. Granger. She hadn’t even been flustered when she’d gotten ill all over his shoes, just glared at him and told him it was his fault for moving her so much.

But when he mentioned sex, her face lit up like one of those Muggle tavern signs. _Silly witch._

Finally, class was dismissed.

Honestly, if Dumbledore hadn’t found someone by dinner, Snape was going to be forced into drastic measures.

Snape frowned as he sat down for dinner at the High Table. The seat on his right was empty. Ms. Granger hardly ever missed a meal without informing him first; they routinely discussed progress in the lab during meals.

The meal ended without Snape devising a plan. _I can’t very well wander around Diagon Alley asking people the extent of their sexual experience and would they like to participate in an experiment? I’d be locked up in a matter of minutes._

Dumbledore stopped him from leaving with a hand on his shoulder. “If I could have a word with you in my office, Severus? I believe I’ve located the rare ingredient you were requesting.”

– ~ – 

In retrospect, he should have expected it. Any other semi-intelligent person would have put two and two together long before now.

Yet he was still surprised to see a nervous Ms. Granger waiting in the Headmaster’s office.

“Ms. Granger?” _Please, don’t let this be what it looks like._

“Professor Snape. Headmaster.” Her voice broke on Snape’s name. _Oh, Merlin. This is going to be bad._

Dumbledore calmly sat behind his desk, ignoring Hermione’s nerves and Snape’s turmoil. 

“Ms. Granger, I can only assume that your presence here means that you have found a volunteer.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she opened her mouth to speak. Nothing came out. She settled for nodding once.

Snape crossed his arms and glared at his apprentice, willing her to change her mind. He needed the final ingredient desperately, but he did not want it to come from her.

“I’m going to regret asking this, but who is the volunteer?”

Hermione took a calming breath and whispered, “Me.”

_**No!**_ He watched her for a moment, long enough to see her straighten her spine and get back some of her usual spirit.

“Very well. Follow me to the lab and we will begin the potion at once.” Snape nodded once to Dumbledore, who waved him away with a smile. _Of course he’s happy. His involvement in this nightmare is over._

Snape stormed through the halls, ignoring the student population. He could hear the hurried footsteps behind him as she struggled to keep up.

He burst through the door of the lab and began setting up his cauldron. He called out a list of ingredients, and Ms. Granger quickly set them in front of him. They worked in silence for a few minutes while Snape thought.

He added all the physical ingredients and lowered the flame. The potion would need to simmer for several hours before the last vexing ingredient could be added.

Ms. Granger began to clean up the work space, seemingly glad to have something with which to occupy herself.

“Why?” Snape’s voice was so low she almost didn’t hear him. He might have thought she hadn’t if he had not seen her freeze up.

“How very Gryffindor of you to offer such a sacrifice for the war.”

She refused to turn around and look at him. He wanted to see her face, see the insult register. He wanted her to change her mind. If there was one thing Severus Snape did not want, it was to hear a replay of Ms. Granger calling out Krum, Weasley or even – Merlin forbid – Potter’s name in passion.

“I’m not doing it for the war. And I didn’t see anyone else lining up to help.”

“Why?”

“Because if I don’t, you won’t have the potion when he summons you and he will be displeased. I’ve seen what he does to you when he’s displeased.”

His angry words echoed across the lab. “I will not have your pity.”

For the first time that evening, the Ms. Granger he was used to showed herself. She whirled around and looked him in the eye. “You don’t have it. I’m doing this for me. I can’t stand watching you struggle not to show an ounce of weakness when he’s tortured you to within an inch of your life. I can’t sit back, knowing I was too cowardly to stop it. This is for me. Not you. Not the war.”

The urge to fight left him. _If she’s determined to do this, who am I to try to stop her!_

“We have three hours to do this. Where would you be more comfortable?”

Apparently the question of location hadn’t occurred to her because she looked startled. _Surely she didn’t think we would do it here?_

“My rooms, I think.”

He crossed to the fireplace and pulled a handful of floo powder out of the box on the mantle. “It wouldn’t do to be seen entering your private rooms. Would it, Ms. Granger?”

Again, that flush of embarrassment. “No, of course not.” She took a handful of powder and tossed it into the fireplace. “My rooms.” She stepped in and disappeared. 

Snape soon followed.

– ~ –

The chair Snape was sitting in wasn’t particularly comfortable.

The dog-eared, worn copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ he’d found on the coffee table couldn’t hold his interest for more than a minute or two at a time. 

He was uncomfortable in the unfamiliar surroundings. Ms. Granger’s setting room was nicely furnished and homey, but it was completely foreign to him.

Or maybe it was the knowledge that she was on the other side of the door he kept staring at, bringing herself sexual gratification, that kept him on edge.

He’d been in her bedroom only long enough to set the correct charm on his wand and place it on a small table near her bed.

He’d left her in there with a lost look on her face as she stared at the bed. That was twenty minutes ago.

The wait was killing him.

_How long can it possibly take to do that?_

He picked up the book again and tried to concentrate on the words in front of him.

He was standing and in front of her seconds after she opened the door.

Her hair was down and curling around her face. She’d changed into a long, purple, silk robe. Her arms were hugged tight to her body, and she was staring intently at her bare feet. 

The silence was awkward.

“Are you...” He had to stop to clear his throat. “Are you done?”

She shook her head miserably, still refusing to look up. “I couldn’t. I’m sorry.” Her shoulders slumped forward in defeat.

Snape reached out tentatively to pat her shoulder in the closest thing he could get to a comforting gesture. He jerked his hand away when she flinched at the contact. She looked so miserable, he didn’t have the heart to berate. Truth be told, he was a little relieved.

“It’s all right. It’s an awkward situation, not conducive toward a... well, an act of that nature.”

She turned back into the room and dropped dejectedly onto the bed. “I did try. I just... The mood wasn’t right.”

Snape followed her, wanting to comfort and knowing now was a very bad time. He picked up his wand and canceled the charm.

“Thank you. For trying to help. If I knew how to make this easier for you...”

Snape made it to the doorway before she spoke. “Wait.”

She was piling up a nest of pillows to lean against. “If this doesn’t work, you won’t be able to finish the potion, right?”

“That is correct.”

She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. “Let me try again.”

“Are you sure?”

“Are you positive this is the only way?”

He nodded.

“I’m sure.”

Snape stepped forward to reset his wand.

“Turn off the lights first, please.”

He flicked his wand and whispered “ _Nox_.” The candles in the bedroom extinguished, leaving only a soft glow from the sitting room. He could barely see her legs on the bed; the rest of her was covered in shadows.

He quickly reset the wand. “I’ll leave you alone.”

“No.” He couldn’t see her face, but there was anxiety in her tone. “Would you talk to me?”

“I hardly think that this is an appropriate time, Ms. Granger.” It was the same tone he used to reprimand her when she was a student.

“Damn it, Professor. We’re running out of time. Would you just sit down and talk to me. I need the distraction.”

Curiosity got the better of him and he gave in. The only place to sit was the bed. He sat on the edge, not far from her knee, with his back toward the head of the bed. 

From the corner of his eye he could just see the bottom half of her robe-covered legs and her small feet. Her toe nails were painted the most shocking shade of red. 

“What would you like me to talk about?”

Her legs shifted as she made herself more comfortable. “I don’t care. Just help me forget why I’m supposed to be doing this. Knowing this is ultimately meant for him is sort of creeping me out.”

Snape chuckled. “I can see how that would be a mood breaker.”

He heard her draw in a sharp breath. He started to turn to make sure she was all right and her hand hit his shoulder with no small amount of force. “Don’t you dare turn around. This is weird enough with out you looking at me.”

“Sorry. I was concerned.” He noticed that her hand hesitated on his shoulder before she removed it.

“Your laugh surprised me. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh before. It’s nice.”

“There aren’t very many things for me to laugh about.”

“You should do it more often. I bet women fall all over themselves when you do.” She shifted again, and Snape became very aware of the movement of her robe against her legs. 

He chose to ignore her comment, unwilling to turn this into a discussion about his lack of a love life. “I am afraid I never was very good at small talk. I’m coming up blank here.”

“Tell me about your summer research project.”

Snape began to detail his thoughts on the need for a more effective way to store volatile ingredients. The old methods weren’t incredibly safe, and he felt that there should be some way to keep the ingredients in stasis without losing potency. 

After a few minutes, he noticed that Ms. Granger’s breathing had sped up a bit. 

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Don’t stop talking. Do you remember the speech you gave my first year?”

“Why?”

“Say it.” The robe seemed to have slipped off her legs and Snape realized she had beautiful calves. 

“I’m not sure I understand, Ms. Granger.”

Her hand pummeled his shoulder again. “Say. It.”

“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making.” The hand now resting on his shoulder began to squeeze.

“I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes...” Snape’s sensitive ears heard the sound of silk sliding across skin. Her breath seemed to be coming out in soft little sighs.

“The delicate power of the liquids that creep through human veins...” Her legs shifted apart. Her knee touched his hip and she pulled it back for a second before letting it rest against him again. Her sighs were getting louder. Snape was starting to get warm.

“Bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses...” The hand on his shoulder was beginning to clench in time with the curling of her toes.

“Don’t stop.” The whispered words made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. 

“I think I should leave now.”

Her groan redirected his blood flow southward. “Say my name.”

“Ms. Granger.” Another moan. His erection jerked at the sound. “Hermione.”

“Yesss.” The seductive hiss called to him. Only her hand on his shoulder kept him from running from the room or turning toward her.

“Hermione, are you close?” His voice was husky with arousal. He hoped she was, because he wasn’t sure how much more of this he could stand.

“Uh-huh, don’t stop talking.” 

Snape felt like a randy teenager, hard and aching and unable to do anything about it. “Are you touching yourself? Your breasts?”

“No.”

“Would you?”

The hand on his shoulder slid away, and he heard her breath catch. “Touch your nipples for me, Hermione. Pinch them.”

“Oh, Severus.” His name on her lips slid over him like warm silk. He couldn’t keep from reaching down and adjusting his too-tight trousers.

“Do you like that?” He took her low, muffled moan as an affirmative. It sounded like she was pressing her face into a pillow. 

“Don’t hold back, Hermione. Let me hear you. Do you have any idea how aroused you’re making me?”

Another moan, this one louder. Her legs opened wider, and he burned to touch them. To run his sensitive palms up to her junction. To find out for himself if she was as wet as he pictured.

He told her what he wanted to do. Each soft gasp fueled his fantasy, and soon his breathing was as rapid as hers. 

Her leg pressed against him, and he could hear the wet sounds as she touched herself. She was getting close. Her gasps had turned to whimpers.

“Are you hard?” her voice no more than a whisper.

_As a rock._ “Yes.” He bit off the word. 

“Because of me?”

How she could be uncertain about that at a time like this boggled his mind, but she seemed to need reassurance. 

“Only for you. If circumstances were different, I’d be over you right now, showing you just how hard and ready I am.”

“Oh. I’m close ... I’m, mmm...” Her moans were driving him crazy.

Her hand slid up his back, into his soft hair. Snape’s eyes closed at the delicious contact.

“Touch yourself.” She was breathless as she made the request.

“I don’t think that’s...” Her fingers were massaging his scalp, and Snape lost his train of thought.

“Please, I don’t want to do this alone.”

Snape’s hand drifted down. “I am.”

“I wish I was touching you.”

Snape shuddered as he cupped himself through his pants. He desperately wanted to free his aching cock, but he couldn’t guarantee her chastity if he did.

“Gods, so do I.”

“I’ve never ... touched a man before.”

He groaned low in his throat. “Don’t remind me. This is difficult enough as it is.”

“Oh, Severus. Oh.”

"Come for me, Hermione. Picture my hands on you. My tongue. Scream for me.”

The muscles in her legs tensed. The need to touch her was over powering.

He ran his fingers along the satin softness of her calf.

Her scream of release nearly made him come.

There was a flash of blue light as the spell on his wand ended.

He had forgotten it was even there. The wand reminded him of his original purpose. He needed to leave, right now, before he did something unforgivable. This was bad enough.

“Oh, my.” Her quiet sigh only made him feel worse.

“I bet that’s what phone sex is like.” She rolled over and buried her face in a pillow.

Snape resisted the urge to turn and run his hand down her back. Barely.

“Phone sex?”

“It’s a muggle thing. Two people talk on the telephone and try to get each other off. I didn’t realize it could be so ...”

Snape agreed. It had been very stimulating to hear her but not see or touch her. He knew it would be ten times better when he finally did give free reign to his hands. When he saw her face when she came for him.

_Whoa, boy. That is not going to happen._

“I need to leave. The potion.”

“Oh. The potion. I’d forgotten ... I mean, of course you do.”

“Right. I’ll see myself out, Ms. Granger.”

He stood and snatched up his wand. He paused at the door, wanting to say something, but having no idea what.

“Professor? Don’t forget to use the floo.”

He nodded once and walked toward the fireplace. He grabbed a handful of floo powder and froze. 

It just didn’t seem right, leaving this way.

“Professor?”

Snape turned to see her standing in the bedroom doorway. She was flushed and tousled and immensely desirable. She hurriedly finished tying the belt of her robe.

“This doesn’t have to change anything, does it? Everything’s going to be okay between us, right? The way it was before.” She worried her lower lip.

“I’m afraid things have changed, Ms. Granger. That is unavoidable. But, yes, everything will be okay between us. We’ll talk later, when we have had time to think.”

He tossed the powder into the fireplace and stepped through.


	2. Caught With His Pants Down

**Parvus Obitus**

**Caught With His Pants Down**

Snape stumbled into his lab and quickly righted himself. He blamed his momentary lack of coordination on the muddled thoughts clouding his mind.

Yes, he had the potion ingredient. But at what cost?

Until tonight, he and Ms. Granger had established a peaceful, almost friendly, working relationship. They had both managed to look past the unfortunate details of her youth. _Namely Potter and Weasley._

Snape crossed the room and inspected the simmering cauldron containing the unfinished _Parvus Obitus_. Another hour and it would be ready for the last ingredient.

He carefully placed his wand on the counter and sat on one of the stools.

Snape leaned forward to press his warm face against the cool stone of the counter top.

Just six months ago he had ridiculed Potter and Weasley for the very same thing he was now guilty of. He and Ms. Granger had been waiting for a difficult potion to set, one that had to be watched closely for any sign of spoiling. Their conversation had eventually turned toward the summer holidays. She had asked for two weeks off to travel with the young men, and Snape had inquired as to who else would be joining them.

“Why would anyone else be coming with us?” Her look of confusion had cleared after a few moments. “Oh, you mean because of Voldemort.” She ignored Snape’s wince.

“Albus has us taken care of. He’s got all sorts of anti-detection and appearance-altering spells for us. We’ll be fine.”

Snape had stared at her; capture by Voldemort hadn’t even occurred to him. At the time, he had ignored the twinge that told him the Dark Lord should have been his first concern. 

Should have, but wasn’t.

“You’re planning on traveling to America – hedonist capitol of the world – and sharing hotel rooms with **two** young men and no one has even suggested the need for a chaperone?”

A strange mood had overtaken her, twisting her features into a hard mask.

“Why would we need a chaperone? To Ron and Harry, I’m just one of the boys, same as Seamus or Neville.”

He had looked at her closely, from head to toe and back again, before speaking.

“You may not spend countless hours fretting over your hair and clothes, but I fail to see how Potter and Weasley could mistake you for a boy.”

Ms. Granger had gotten another strange look upon her face and had opened her mouth to reply when the cauldron between them had given an odd hiss. They had been far too busy containing the near disaster to remember the awkward conversation.

Snape groaned against the counter.

It had been so easy to think of Ms. Granger as a brilliant mind, he had completely forgotten she was a woman. Made himself forget, really. 

And now, he could think of little else.

Snape turned his head slightly to watch the last grains of sand drop through the hour glass next to the cauldron. 

It was time.

He held the wand just above the simmering liquid and spoke the incantation to release the captured sounds. The wand had been charmed to respond only to Ms. Granger’s building release, nothing else. The recording, as it were, was thankfully short. Only a minute long, really.

Sixty seconds of pure torture for Snape, as her shuttered moans filled the small lab.

The sweet catch in her voice as she began to gasp something low and breathless made him lean his hips against the counter for support.

The slow burn of arousal that had remained with him since he’d left her flared up and caught fire. Snape bit down hard on his lower lip to smother his own groan of need. His eyes closed involuntarily as he once again pictured her writhing under his sweat-covered body.

Her unintelligible groans turned into one word, repeated over and over.

His name.

His heart had been pounding so hard before, blood rushing through his veins so loudly, that he hadn’t realized the sound wrenched from her shaking body as she found her release had been his name.

He held himself still until the last echoes of her passion-filled voice died.

He waved a hand to shut off the flame under the cauldron and dropped the wand as if it were on fire.

There was a faint tremor in his hands and a flush to his skin.

With the potion completed his mind no longer had any hope of distraction from the need threatening to overpower him.

A muttered phrase and a subtle gesture later, a small door appeared on the far wall of the lab.

Snape hurried through it, hands already working to remove his heavy teaching robes. He paused just inside the doorway and glared at the flames in the fireplace, relieved to have found a distraction. Obviously, one of the house elves had managed to sneak into his rooms again. Someday he would discover a ward that would keep the little buggers out of his living quarters. The voice in his head immediately suggested finding Ms. Granger and asking her advice. Or, just finding Ms. Granger, period.

Snape dropped the robe where he stood and slowly began pulling at the buttons of his frock coat.

Ms. Granger’s voice continued to haunt him. One hand involuntarily traveled down, past his taut stomach, to press against his groin. Snape bit back a moan as he cupped his hard length. Just hearing his name from her lips had brought him immediately back to complete arousal.

With renewed desperation he worked at the buttons of the frock coat until it too was tossed into a dark heap on the floor.

Frustration caused him to pull his white dress shirt open, unmindful of the buttons that flew off.

He fell into his favorite chair near the fire, thankful for the heat that was beginning to chase the chill of the dungeon from his newly exposed skin.

He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the chair as his hand slipped into the opening of his ruined shirt.

Hermione.

What would she do if she ever saw him like this, flushed and aching and desperate for her touch ... her mouth?

He could picture her walking ... no, slinking, toward him. Her long, curly hair loose around her face, trailing down to rest against her negligee-covered breasts. _Her green negligee. Since she’s **my** fantasy, she can wear the colors of **my** house._

She was a seductress, a siren. The sway of her hips drew his eyes to the place he wanted, needed, to be.

She dropped to her knees in front of his chair, so close her wayward curls brushed against the legs of his trousers. Her head tilted to the side as she looked up at him.

“Severus.” His name on her lips. 

Heaven. Or Hell. He didn’t care anymore.

“Let me touch you?” Her voice was a question.

He let himself get lost in the fantasy. The lightly calloused fingers of his hands soon became her soft, delicate digits.

Slowly his/her hands slid down his chest to the waistline of his pants.

– ~ – 

Hermione paused outside Severus’ – No, Professor Snape’s – private lab. A nervous hand reached up to tuck a wet curl back into the lopsided mess atop her head. She had made only a half-hearted effort pin it up after her shower, and the wet mass kept sliding loose.

She had stared at the empty fireplace long after Professor Snape had disappeared. The repercussions of what she had done, what she’d let him see. It seemed like forever before she’d blinked and stepped back into her bedroom. 

The bed seemed to mock her. 

Obviously her behavior had embarrassed him. He must have been horrified. 

“He said he ... enjoyed it.” She spoke to the empty room.

_Of course he did. He remembered the real reason for that little performance. He would have said anything make it easier for you to finish. Sometimes you really are a silly little girl, Hermione._

“But he ... sounded ...”

_He ran out of here like the very hounds of Hades were upon him, didn’t he?_

“The potion ...”

_Had at least another hour before the last ingredient could be added. He did what he needed to do. Don’t let yourself read anything more into it._

She didn’t feel bad about what they had done; as she had explained to the professor, there was no way she was going to send him back without that potion.

It was the thought of what he was going to say when they next met that caused the sick feeling in her stomach.

She had hoped a shower would wash away the butterflies and leave her with a clear head, but it only gave her more time to worry. 

And now she was standing outside the lab, still uncertain as to what his reaction would be.

_Gods, don’t let him think I’m infatuated with him. How will I face him if he thinks I have some silly crush on him._

_All right, Hermione. You can do this. Just walk in, wait for the right time and ..._

_And what? Say “Sorry I used that magnificent voice of yours as a sexual aid, Professor. Won’t happen again.”_

_Can’t say that, can you? Wouldn’t be true. After all, you’ve done it before._

Hermione stomped her foot in frustration before she remembered where she was. She looked up and down the corridor to make sure no one had seen her outburst.

After a few deep, calming breaths she lowered the ward to the lab and walked in.

Her carefully rehearsed, studiously casual greeting died on her lips. 

The lab was empty. 

At a momentary loss, Hermione looked around the lab for a clue as to what she should do. She noticed a faint light coming from the back of the lab. She knew there was a door back there; Professor Snape had disappeared through it on a few occasions to retrieve a book or some forgotten notes. He had never told her where it led to, and she had never found the right opportunity to ask.

“Professor?”

Silence was her only answer. 

She cautiously crept closer to the door. “Professor?” Her oft-heralded courage was beginning to desert her, and her voice wasn’t much louder than a whisper.

If there was one thing she had learned from her childhood years with the boys, it was that there was a very fine line between bravery and stupidity. The trick was being able to tell the difference. 

What she was about to do would no doubt fall on the side of stupidity.

Hermione reached the partially open door and peeked around the doorframe.

He was seated in a worn chair in front of the fire. His eyes were closed, and his face was flushed and drawn.

Hermione opened her mouth to apologize for intruding when the movement of his hands caught her attention.

_Oh. My._

His left hand was rubbing lazy circles across the bare expanse of his chest. His right ... his right was partially hidden by the open fly of his trousers.

Her mouth suddenly went dry, and she couldn’t have said anything even if she wanted to. All she could do was watch.

He groaned as his left hand slid down to join the right. His lips were parted, and she could hear the harsh sounds of his breathing. 

“Touch me.” It was almost a plea.

Hermione had actually taken a step toward him before she realized he wasn’t talking to her. He was lost in the moment.

And she **really** shouldn’t be here.

Snape freed his erection, the fingers of one hand trailing across the sensitive head. Hermione’s gasp was drowned out by his. 

She watched as he pleasured himself, the analytical part of her mind cataloging each touch, each moan-inducing movement, for future reference. The idea that she might someday need to know how he liked to be touched made her knees weak. The heat between her legs was becoming unbearable. Soon her gasps mirrored his.

His hips were beginning to thrust in time with the strokes of his hand. His free hand slid into his trousers, and he jerked at the contact. 

“I’m close. Come with me.”

She was tempted. For a second she let herself pretend that he was talking to her.

“Come for me like you did before. For me, no one else.” His pace quickened.

“Scream my name, Hermione. Oh, gods.” He arched off chair with the force of his orgasm. 

Hermione’s heart froze at the sound of her name. Her legs suddenly felt like jelly and she stumbled backward, knocking into a stool. She righted the stool as quickly as possible and listened to see if he had heard the noise.

“Who’s there?”

She could hear him moving in the other room, and panic almost set in. There wouldn’t be nearly enough time to escape. 

Hermione leaned over the cauldron and did everything in her power to think of something other than what she’d just witnessed. _Voldemort. Think of Voldemort._

“Professor, are you in there? I wanted to make sure the potion turned out.” She raised her voice to be heard in the other room.

Seconds later, Snape opened the door fully and stood silhouetted in the doorway. His pants were fastened; the dress shirt hung open.

His dark eyes studied her for a moment. She could hear the pounding of her heart, and she prayed that he would attribute her nervousness to the events in her room. 

“It is considered common courtesy to announce one’s presence, Ms. Granger.” He disappeared back into the room for a moment. 

She looked at the ink-black potion, intent on finding something to distract him. “Is it supposed to be that color?”

She was relieved to see him shrugging into his frock coat when he returned. He’d put on another dress shirt as well. Hermione didn’t think she would have been able to string together two words, much less coherent sentences, if he hadn’t.

– ~ – 

Snape watched her leave twenty minutes later. He’d been afraid that she’d heard him earlier, but she gave no indication that she’d even known he was near until he had come to the door.

She had been nervous, but that was to be expected. It appeared that Ms. Granger’s experience with the intimacies of the opposite sex was extremely limited. 

_Which is probably a blessing, considering the fact that you get aroused just by being in the same room with her._

He had tried to distance his fantasy from the real woman, but at some point the practiced seductress in green had turned into the more familiar visage of his apprentice. In the fantasy he had looked down and her long hair had been pulled up into one of those ineffectual knots that never seemed to properly contain the curly mass. Her ruby red lips had returned to their natural color. Her revealing negligee had been replaced with the robe she often wore for lab work.

That was what had sent him over the edge. The face of **his** Ms. Granger, not some made-up siren, intent on pleasing him.

He rubbed his face with both hands and groaned. _I’m definitely getting too old for this._

The Dark Lord would call for him in less than twelve hours. If Snape was going to keep his wits about him, he would need to sleep soon.


	3. Waiting For the Call

**Parvus Obitus**

**Waiting For the Call**

Snape dismissed the fourth year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, thankful that his last class of the day was finally over. He had been looking forward to a quick supper and a quiet night with a good book.

He briefly considered asking Ms. Granger to join him for a glass of wine after dinner, then quickly dismissed the idea, just as he had almost every evening for the past four and a half weeks. Their ... for want of a better word, relationship had been strained after the incident. They were finally getting to the point where the silences weren’t as awkward. It had been days since he’d caught himself watching as she absentmindedly nibbled on a quill and found himself instantly hard. True, as he lay in his bed at night he still heard her voice crying out his name. But he would work through that.

No, best to limit his time with Ms. Granger for the moment and save the invitation for another time. He stood at the lectern, waiting for the students to file out of the room. Before the door could close behind the last of them Professor McGonagall rushed into the lab. Her face was pinched with worry, and she was wringing her hands together.

Her distress was obvious; Snape did not hesitate before closing the distance between them. 

“What is it, Minerva? Is it Albus?”

She shook her head emphatically. “No, thank Merlin.” She grasped one of his hands in both of hers and squeezed. “It’s very bad, Severus. Ronald Weasley was taken last evening.”

Snape tried to free his captured limb but she would not loosen her grip. “I suppose Albus wants me to find the boy.”

He didn’t see the need for hysterics. Yes, the boy was in danger, but the likelihood of the Dark Lord murdering him outright was slim. He would be tortured for information and then used as bait for the real target. Potter.

McGonagall’s stranglehold on his hand increased. “Albus received Harry Potter’s owl not more than fifteen minutes ago. Somehow Harry discovered where Ronald was being held. He and Hermione left early this morning to rescue the boy.”

Snape’s heart stopped for a split second. “Hermione? Potter and Ms. Granger ran off to face a party of ... alone?”

He wrenched his hand free and began to pace the room. “Of all the idiotic ... I expected better of her.” He stopped and McGonagall could almost see his mind working. “If they left this morning, why are we just now receiving word?”

McGonagall went back to her hand wringing. “He knew we would try to stop them. They wanted to get to Ronald before he was taken to He-who-can-not-be-named. They informed no one of their plans.”

– ~ –

Sandwiches were brought to the Headmaster’s office, but they remained undisturbed on the platter. Neither Dumbledore nor McGonagall felt like eating, and Snape hadn’t stopped pacing long enough to notice the food.

The facts were scarce. Dumbledore had used his contacts at the Ministry to discover that Weasley and a few friends were accosted on the way home from a Chudley Cannons exhibition match. The friends, including one fellow Auror-in-training, were beaten into unconsciousness but left relatively unharmed. The attack was so sudden that none of the remaining boys could give a reasonable description of the assailants. 

Snape and Dumbledore both agreed that there was something odd about the abduction. There were too many chances taken, too many witnesses for a premeditated Death Eater strike.

Snape summed up their thoughts with a single sentence. “It was an attack of opportunity.”

There was nothing they could do but wait.

The night was half gone before Dumbledore froze, quill hand hovering in mid air.

“What is it, Albus?” McGonagall hurried across the office to his side. Snape looked up from the book he had been staring at for over an hour.

Dumbledore rose on unsteady legs. He gestured toward the office door and it flew open. The sounds of stone moving across stone echoed through the antechamber and filled the office.

The battered figure of the Boy-who-lived appeared at the top of the stairs, followed closely by the massive form of the Hogwarts groundskeeper. Hagrid seemed to be carrying someone, probably Weasley. 

Snape let Dumbledore and McGonagall rush forward to inspect the Boy Wonder and Friend, McGonagall acting like a mother hen to her Gryffindor chicks.

Snape watched Hagrid settle the beaten but conscious Weasley in a chair, then turned to wait for the last of the trio to appear in the doorway. Moments passed and the expected face did not appear. Snape’s eyes narrowed and he turned to confront Potter.

Questions were being thrown at Potter from McGonagall and the Headmaster. Every time he tried to say something, someone would ask him if he and Weasley were all right or chastize him for running off without back up. The twelve ton boulder of worry seemed to crush his chest and every time he tried to talk, to tell them what was wrong, he could only wheeze and cough mono-syllabic phrases.

His imploring gaze caught the Potions Master’s icy glare.

“Where. Is. She.” Snape did not raise his voice, but didn’t need to. The menace in his tone left no doubt as to his temperament.

Potter drew in a shuttered breath and tried unsuccessfully to talk.

Snape stalked across the room and pulled the stuttering man to his feet, ignoring McGonagall’s protests. “Tell me where she is, boy, or so help me I will kill you myself.”

“He can’t.” The croak-like noise came from the red-headed lump in the chair. “He got hit with a spell.”

Potter’s earnest nod confirmed Weasley’s tale. Snape dropped his hands in disgust and he gave his full attention to the red-head.

“What happened to Hermione?”

Weasley flicked his tongue across his split lower lip and tried to pull himself up into a seated position. He aimed a grateful look at the half-giant when Hagrid propped him up with one large hand.

“When I woke up after the attack, there were four of them in dark robes and hoods. They kept saying how pleased the Master was going to be when they told him how they had seen ‘Potter’s sidekick’ and taken him ... me.” He paused to swallow, his throat obviously dry. McGonagall handed him a glass of water, and after drinking most of the glass he continued. 

“They had me tied up in some old shack. They were waiting for something, some signal or something. After what seemed like forever there was this horrible racket outside and two of them went to see what it was.”

Potter managed to force out the semblance of a word, looking relieved that the effects of the spell were starting to fade. “H’mionee.”

Weasley nodded. “Right. Hermione. I could hear her casting spells right and left. Suddenly, one of the two remaining guys got hit by a stunning spell and Harry appeared. It all went crazy after that.”

Snape’s hands were balled into fists at his sides. He was fighting the urge to wrap his hands around Weasley’s throat. Or Potter’s. Or both.

“Ms. Granger?” He reminded Weasley to get to the point.

Weasley had the decency to flush. “Right. We were getting away, the three of us, when a handful of Death Eaters apparated with no warning. That’s when Harry got hit, to keep him from casting, I think. We were surrounded, Harry holding me up, and Hermione yelled out our names and threw this at us.” From out of his pocket he pulled a small stone paperweight with the letters “HG” carved across the top. “It was a port key. Harry and I ended up outside the gates of the school. There was no sign of Hermione.”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Snape’s barely audible query was a hundred times worse than if he had yelled. “You left her to the wolves. If we can’t find where they’ve taken her, death won’t come soon enough for her.”

– ~ –

The Order was called and a plan was made. What was to be rescue mission quickly escalated, Potter’s fury and guilt urging them on. All they needed was a location.

For that, they turned to Snape.

His discreet inquiries at the Malfoy Manor had turned up nothing, although Lucius had been quite intrigued at the thought of Potter’s female sidekick at the mercy of the Dark Lord. He had given Snape his word that he would notify the Potions Master if he heard anything, believing Snape wanted to witness the entertainment as much as he.

Snape had been left with a foul taste in his mouth after that conversation. 

Hours passed and still no word.

He could do nothing but wait for the summons. He was both dreading and eager for the moment when the mark would begin to burn.

He sat in a darkened corner of the Headmaster’s office, a bundle containing his robes and mask within reach. The others were chittering nervously, and Snape tuned them out. Each had a job to do, people to lead.

His job was relatively simple. When the summons came he would apparate blindly as usual. Only this time he wouldn’t be alone; Remus Lupin and Potter’s old cloak would be along for the ride.

Potter had wanted to go, but Dumbledore had finally been able to talk some sense into the boy. No, better to send someone who wasn’t mentally connected to the Dark Lord.

Enter Lupin, with his remarkably keen senses and skill with the counter curses. Snape would lead him to the meeting, and Lupin would lead the others.

All Snape had to do while he waited for the cavalry was keep himself and Ms. Granger alive. She was his responsibility during the battle, and if her condition was life-threatening he was to bring her to Madame Pomfrey at the earliest opportunity. Dumbledore’s orders were very clear on the matter; he would not allow her to be lost.

Easier said than done.

The mark began to burn and Snape stood, the only outward sign of discomfort his clenched fist. Silence descended upon the room. He picked up his bundle and motioned toward Lupin.

The trip through the castle was a blur of color and sound as everyone in Dumbledore’s office saw them off.

Potter stopped him before he moved to step outside the wards of the castle. 

“Please, sir. I know we’ve never seen eye to eye, but Albus is right. If anyone can bring her back, it’s you.”

Snape bit back his retort. He nodded once, made sure Lupin was holding on to him, and stepped out of wards. 

Seconds later he found himself in a clearing near an old cottage. The tap on his right shoulder told him that Lupin had made the trip and was leaving to find a landmark for the others. 

The faint glow of candlelight from the windows drew Snape toward the cottage. The door was guarded by only one man, and Snape passed him without a word. 

The single room was crowded with a dozen black-robed figures. Snape pushed past most of them toward the center of the room. As he stepped out from the throng of spectators, the horrific voice of the Dark Lord greeted him.

“Just in time. I would hate for you to miss this, Severus. Tonight, we’ll get to witness the effects of the _Parvus Obitus_ first-hand. This should be interesting.” He nodded toward one of the masked men near the corner of the room. 

Snape watched, horrified, as the man turned and began to drag something toward the Dark Lord. 

At first Snape thought she’d been beaten like Weasley, she was so still. Then he realized that she was bound, hands and feet, and gagged. She was searching her surroundings, looking for a way to escape. The man pulled the gag out of her mouth and pulled her head back, holding her by the chin.

Voldemort’s reptilian mouth seemed to stretch into the caricature of a grin. “I’ll give you one more chance to tell me where Potter is, child. Then we will use the potion.”

Hermione tried to pull her chin out of the Death Eater’s hand. “Your threats don’t scare me.”

“Not a threat, child. Fact. I planned on using the potion whether you told us or not.” Voldemort nodded to another Death Eater and the small vial of potion Snape had produced for the Dark Lord appeared from within his robes. 

Hermione’s panicked eyes met his as her mouth was forced open. As viscous liquid began to slide out of the vial, chaos erupted.


	4. Choices

**Parvus Obitus**

**Choices**

Snape dived to the floor as the first volley of spells exploded into the room. A quick glance assured him the Dark Lord had more important things to worry about than his newest captive.

Snape crawled across the floor to her, dodging scrambling Death Eaters and flying furniture.

She was curled up on her side coughing, streams of dark liquid covering the lower half of her face. She’d spit up as much of the potion as possible, but would it be enough? Snape looked for the vial; maybe he could see how much was left to better determine how much she had ingested.

A small, black pool and shards of glass were his only answer. The fools must have dropped the vial when the attack began.

She was breathing and relatively unharmed for the moment; time enough to assess the danger of the potion later when the effects began to kick in. For now Snape’s immediate concern was getting her out of the middle of the war zone. 

The cottage door was too far away. He spotted a sturdy wooden side table near the closest corner of the room; it would have to do.

Snape pulled a small dagger out of an inner pocket of his robes and sliced through the cords at her wrists and ankles.

“We need to move, Ms. Granger. That corner.” He jerked his head to indicate where. “Can you make it?”

Her eyes were still wide with panic, but she nodded to show she understood. “You’ll have to help me. My legs are numb.”

Snape grabbed hold of her wrist and nearly ended up dragging her across the room. Hermione did her best to help. Snape could tell she was in pain as feeling began to return to limbs that had been restrained, but she refused to complain.

He flipped the table, making a barricade. No one seemed to notice or care about the two people huddled in the corner, so Snape turned his attention to her.

He used the hem of his robe to wipe the remains of the potion off her chin. “Are you okay? How much did you ingest?”

She pulled the robe out of his hands and used it to scrub the taste of the potion of her tongue.

“Not much. I spit out everything I could. What’s going to happen? Am I going to die?” There was a faint tremor to her voice.

Snape was pleased to see that she was fighting off the panic. He pulled off one of his gloves and found her wrist. She flinched as his skin touched hers. 

“I doubt you will die, Ms. Granger. Your pulse is racing but not dangerously so. If you had ingested a fatal amount the effects would have been instantaneous and violent.” 

Her eyes fluttered closed and she leaned toward him; her nostrils flared slightly as she caught his scent. She immediately caught herself and scooted as far away from him as the cramped space would allow. The flush of her skin told him all that he needed to know.

“What’s the plan? Tell me what I need to do.”

He admired her strength of will. The potion was starting to effect her but she was doing her best not to let it show. How long she would be able to hold off before her need grew too powerful depended on her control. Snape realized that it could break at any minute.

“As soon as it is safe enough I am taking you back to the castle. Poppy has a room set up in case you were hurt. You can take care of ...”

A dark-robed figure fell against the table barricade. Snape recognized him as the man who had dragged Hermione in front of the Dark Lord.

Hermione launched herself across the small space and tangled her hands in the back of the intruder’s robes. A sharp tug had him over-balancing backward into the hidden nook. 

“He’s got my wand! He took it!”

The Death Eater looked surprised to find himself hanging upside down over the upturned table, being pawed at by his frantic former captive.

Snape snatched the Death Eater’s wand out of his hand. Hermione continued to search the struggling villain, growing more upset with each second. When he managed to grab one of her hands she snapped, letting loose a vicious snarl and sinking her teeth into the skin of his arm.

The startled Death Eater’s yelp spurred Snape into action. He cast _Stupefy_ and began to help her search.

Seconds later – with a triumphant “Yes!” – she brandished her wand. Catching her intent, Snape shoved the stunned man back over the table and closed his fingers around the wrist of her wand hand.

Her other hand closed around his as she tried to free herself. “Clear your mind. We’re leaving.” He waited just long enough for her to nod as her eyes to narrow menacingly.

Their surroundings blurred, and seconds later they were kneeling on the school grounds, face-to-face, outside the castle wards. Snape still had her wrist grasped tightly in his hand. He ignored the murderous look in her eye and tugged on her captured wrist, intending to snag her attention. “If you are ready, Ms. Granger, I believe Pop...”

His words were cut short by the sudden force of her body colliding with his.

Snape’s vision blurred when the back of his head hit the grass-covered ground. He forced his eyes to focus on the woman straddling his waist, pulling her wrist free from his grasp.

“Stop touching me! You have to stop ...” She froze, staring down at his lips. Snape ran his tongue across his lower lip, discovering the copper taste of blood. He must have bitten his lip when she collided with him.

He watched her face, preparing to defend himself from her next blow, as she stared at him.

Suddenly she was on him, hands pressing against his shoulders, her full body weight across his chest, and her tongue ...

Snape’s eyes closed involuntarily and all thoughts of resistance momentarily fled as she lapped at the blood on his lip.

Her mouth closed over his, and her tongue slid past his unprotesting lips. The metallic tang of blood and something else, something that had to be her, filled his mouth. Her teeth nipped at his bruised lip and he moaned.

She jerked her head back at the sound. Her look of horror met his for a second before she scrambled off him.

She looked embarrassed and scared and ... aroused. Snape felt his body respond.

He sat up and gingerly probed his sore lip with his tongue. Hermione’s eyes followed the movement in a way that caused Snape’s blood to pool in his groin. 

She covered her face with her hands, wand forgotten beside her, and began to rock back and forth. “I’m so sorry, Professor. Please forgive me. I don’t know what came over me.”

Snape picked up her wand and held it out to her, careful to leave plenty of space between her hand and his. “I do. It is the potion, Ms. Granger. It is a powerful dark magic that you have managed to resist far longer than most.” He stood and indicated that she should as well.

“Can you hold on just a bit longer?”

She bit her lip and nodded, carefully tucking her hands behind her back and standing several feet away from the tall Potions Master.

They hurried to the infirmary, each very aware of Hermione’s tenuous hold on her self control. Thankfully the halls were empty and the trip was a short one.

Pomfrey had readied the infirmary. All of the candles were lit, the beds prepped.

Snape held up his hand, forestalling the medi-witch’s questions, and led his trembling apprentice to the prepared room.

There was a sensuous glow to her skin, her lower lip swollen from being worried between her teeth. Desperate sounds, almost whimpers, were escaping from her. Snape had never seen a woman look more desirable.

Dark chocolate eyes peeked up at him through heavy lashes. “I feel strange. Not at all like myself. I want to do things, need to ...” The plea in her voice, in her eyes, was almost too much for him to withstand.

He stepped into the room and cast a silencing charm to protect her modesty.

As she passed by him, her body brushed against his. Snape flushed when he realized the contact was not accidental.

Hermione stopped near the solitary hospital bed and turned to look at him. She lifted one hand to her face and let her fingers drift across her cheek to her mouth.

She watched him as her tongue slid out to lick the tip of her index finger. Her lips closed around the digit. He could see her cheeks hollow as she sucked on her finger.

His knees threatened to buckle.

Very slowly Hermione drew the wet finger out of her mouth and down the graceful line of her throat toward the neckline of her shirt. Both hands reached for the buttons and as the first one slid free Snape slammed the door shut, blocking the tantalizing image from sight.

Several deep breaths later, Snape felt his control had returned. He turned to find Pomfrey standing where he had left her, waiting for an explanation.

As she tended to his damaged lip he informed her of Ms. Granger’s condition, leaving out some of the details – like how his lip was split. _Better to let Poppy believe I got hit in the fight._

Several minutes later, as Pomfrey was proclaiming Snape’s lip as good as new, the battered (and judging by the good spirits, victorious) troops began to arrive.

Immediately Pomfrey scurried to help the wounded.

Dumbledore was standing next to a bed containing the Weasley boy. Potter was nowhere to be seen, and for a moment Snape’s heart stopped, then kicked into overdrive. He didn’t know if he was gleeful or saddened at the thought that the Boy-Who-Lived didn’t. Before he could analyze the feeling further, Potter walked through the door clutching his left arm protectively to his chest.

Dumbledore noticed the Potions Master and signaled for Snape to join him.

Reluctantly, Snape did so. “Mr. Weasley, I see that you managed to survive.”

The red-head grinned. “Nothing like a little sport to get the blood flowing. I’m only here because the Pepper-Up started to fade, and I got a wee bit dizzy.”

“He passed out.” Snape steeled himself against the grating sound of Potter’s voice. 

Someone had tended to Potter’s arm and it now hung in a sling. “He kept himself going until the Aurors captured Voldemort, then he dropped like a stone.”

The young men grinned at each other.

Snape bit back his growing impatience. “Sir,” he directed himself to Dumbledore. “I would like to give you my report and return to the dungeon. If we could find somewhere to discuss ...”

Potter interrupted him. “Where’s ‘Mione? Don’t tell me you let her get hurt?” 

Snape leveled a cold glare at him. “I am sure she will find your concern touching. Especially as it was your incompetence which landed her in that mess to begin with.”

Weasely and Potter both began hurling insults and excuses. Dumbledore took a step back, out of the line of fire. _Coward._

Snape cut the young men off with a snarl. “Silence. Do you have any idea what Death Eaters do to women? They administered the _Parvus Obitus_ , gentlemen. They had every intention of making her beg for the privilege of being used like a Knockturn Alley whore.”

_Finally, the little bastards look contrite. Always thinking of themselves, selfish prats._

Dumbledore placed a reassuring hand on Potter’s shoulder. “Hermione will be fine. She’s being isolated until the effects of the potion wear off.” At Snape’s suspicious look, Dumbledore shrugged. “Poppy.” 

The door to Hermione’s temporary room flew open, and the tousled witch stood in the doorway. Her hair was disheveled, her shirt half-unbuttoned and completely untucked from her denim trousers. 

Snape found himself moving toward her before he realized what he was doing. He pointedly ignored the curious look he knew Dumbledore was giving him.

“Hermione!” Weasley tried to climb out of the bed, but a stern glance from Pomfrey held him back.

Potter nearly fell over himself trying to get to her. Snape rolled his eyes at the pathetic display. When Potter tried to wrap his good arm around her in a hug she neatly side-stepped him.

“Please, don’t touch me.” She wrapped her arms around herself and looked around the room. 

“Look, ‘Mione, I’m sorry about what happened. I really am. Snape told us about the potion.” Potter faltered as he suddenly had her undivided attention.

“What _are_ you going on about?”

He moved to reach for her again only to draw back when she flinched. “Are you mad at me? Hermione?” He realized that she wasn’t listening to him. She left him standing there and made straight for Snape.

Snape glanced at Dumbledore, who looked just as confused as he felt, and then back at the determined woman stalking across the room toward him.

She stopped less than a foot away, close enough that Snape could see how tense she was. 

“It’s not working. Something’s wrong. I’m going crazy.”

Even though she’d made no move to touch him, gone out of her way to leave space between them, Snape felt crowded. Deep brown eyes studied him much like a cat studied a mouse, waiting for the perfect opportunity to pounce.

Somehow, the thought of Hermione pouncing on him wasn’t nearly as distasteful as he had expected it to be.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, and Snape remembered his surroundings. The Headmaster looked from his tense Potions staff to the gathering audience and back again. “Perhaps we should discuss this elsewhere?” He indicated the room Hermione had just left.

She shook her head. “No. I’m not going back in there. I’m going to my room; there might be something in one of my books.”

She was looking at him again. Snape couldn’t contain the small shiver that raced up his spine.

“Professor, since you are more familiar with the potion than any one else, would you be willing to search your personal library? I would be so very, very grateful.”

Her tone conjured images of all the different ways she could express her gratitude.

Snape could see he wasn’t the only male affected by her.

“Of course, Ms. Granger. Might I suggest using the floo? It could be awkward if you were seen in your ... condition.”

He resisted the urge to back away when she leaned closer and placed her hand above his heart. “My ... condition is being controlled by calming charms that are growing more difficult to maintain every second. When my concentration finally snaps, something deliciously wicked is going to happen, and, frankly, I’m beginning to look forward to it.”

Hermione shoved and Snape fell back a step or two.

She crossed to the fireplace, ignoring the shocked reactions of most of the room, and grabbed a handful of floo powder. With a sensuous grace few knew she was capable of, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and smiled. “Coming, boys?”

Snape hid his matching grin. _Oh Hell yes._

– ~ –

Twenty minutes later Snape arrived at Hermione’s chambers, his arms loaded down with a stack of books from his collection. He had hopes that one of them might contain the answer for Hermione’s dilemma.

The potion wasn’t reacting as it should. The magic should have dissipated the minute she found release. 

Dumbledore met him at the door. He made no effort to hid his worry from Snape.

“She was in the shower when we arrived. That seemed to help for a few minutes, but she’s had to recast the calming charm twice since then.”

Weasley and Potter looked up when he entered the room. They were in the chairs next to the fire, large tomes propped in their laps. Identical looks of confusion seemed to be permanently plastered across their faces.

For the first time Snape noticed that Dumbledore had a book as well. She had even put the Headmaster to work. For some reason Snape found the thought immensely amusing.

The task mistress herself was seated on the couch, rapidly scanning through a book. Her wet hair was piled up in a nest of messy curls, much like it had been that night in his lab.

She’d changed into a huge white sweatshirt that was long enough to cover her knees and a pair of shiny black footless tights, what some of the female students referred to as leggings. Her feet were bare, her toe nails painted gold.

_They should be red._

Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, Snape turned to see Dumbledore dive for the chair behind Hermione’s desk. The old goat shot him a pained, almost apologetic look and quickly began reading. Weasley and Potter immediately did the same.

A quick appraisal of the room showed him why. Seating was at a premium, and the three cowards had left him with only two options: the floor or the couch. With Hermione.

_Severus Snape does not sit on the floor like a toddler._

Reminding himself to expect anything, Snape hefted his stack of books and carried them to the couch. 

“Ms. Granger.”

Her rapid page turning stilled. Slowly, Hermione lifted her head to look up at him. Her voice was husky when she answered. “Professor.”

Snape deposited the load of books on to the couch next to her. “These are the most likely to mention the _Parvus Obitus_.”

She added the book she’d been paging through to the large discard stack beside the couch and reached for the top book from Snape’s pile.

His hand shot out to stop her, his iron grip keeping her hand from escaping. He pretended not to notice her shiver at the contact.

Time stood still for a second as her eyes met his.

He leaned down and her gaze fell to his lips. Hers parted on a sigh and he could see the barest hint of her pink tongue.

“These books are from my private collection; they do not belong to the school.” His voice was low, for her ears only. “Some of them are quite old, all of them rare. The subject matter is ... delicate and I would be very disappointed if the wrong people learned of it. Therefore, I must ask that you refrain from discussing any thing you may read with anyone other than myself. Is that clear?”

He waited for her answer, hand still wrapped tightly around hers. She was not going near those books until he had her word.

“Take me.”

Snape’s head snapped back as if she’d hit him. Hermione slapped her free hand over her mouth, eyes wide in panic.

She pulled her hand free and bolted off the sofa to her bedroom, the door slamming shut behind her.

“What happened?” Weasley’s voice broke on the question.

Snape realized he had been staring at her closed bedroom door, mouth gawping like a fish, and quickly schooled his features.

“I believe the charm failed.”

The four men traded worried looks as the implications began to sink in. The silence seemed to go on forever before Snape sat down and pulled a small hardbound journal out of his stack of books.

“Don’t just sit there, research.”

He used his no-nonsense teacher voice and was pleased to see the boys jump.

Keeping one eye on Hermione’s door, Snape settled back to scan the journal. It was slow work at first, the antiquated French was difficult to translate, but soon he began to believe he was on to something.

The journal had belonged to a dark warlock with voyeuristic tendencies named Geriant Sebastian. In the early 1800's he became fascinated with Donatien Alphonse Francois de Sade’s work, particularly the uncompleted _One Hundred and Twenty Days of Sodom_.

Sebastian began to mix de Sade’s methods with magic. A few of his experiments involved the _Parvus Obitus_. 

He had procured a small vial of the potion and administered it to a bar wench. Needless to say, he had enjoyed the results.

Eventually the potion ran out, and Sebastian discovered the secrets to making his own. He knew of a young girl in his employ, a chamber maid who harbored a “secret” infatuation for him. He used that infatuation to get the key ingredient. The young woman was nearly deflowered the same night as the potion was completed. 

Sebastian found her “quaint shyness” to be an amusing diversion for a few weeks, then wanted something more from his new pet. The potion was used and the whippings began. Eventually he issued permission for her to seek her own fulfillment. He watched as the poor girl did as he asked, thus ending the magic’s hold. Or so he thought. Within a quarter of an hour, the young maid was again writhing on the floor, begging for release.

He let the cycle continue for several hours, the girl no longer trying to fight the spell. She gave herself over to the feelings.

Her abandon inspired the warlock, and together they tortured a young stable hand. Their enthusiasm enabled the normally sexually dysfunctional Sebastian to claim her maidenhead. 

“It was as close as I may ever come to an act of love,” wrote Sebastian.

At some point during the prolonged encounter – which Sebastian detailed in length – the spell must have been countered, since the young woman was able to fall into an exhausted sleep soon after.

Sebastian hypothesized that the dark magic “recognized” the donor and the spell reacted differently.

Whatever the reason, the spell did not end until Sebastian claimed the maid as his consort.

Snape had a sneaking suspicion that Hermione would not be pleased with the news.

His lips twitched at the mental image of Dumbledore explaining why it would be a good idea for Hermione to suddenly take a lover.

His amusement ended when he realized the Headmaster would undoubtably make Snape tell her.

_What the bleeding Hell am I supposed to say? “Now would be a good time to convince Mr. Potter or Mr. Weasley that you are, in fact, a female?”_

He doubted that would go over very well with her.

Snape carried the journal across the room to Dumbledore. He indicated the passage the Headmaster should read, and waited.

The older wizard read it twice, taking pains to make sure he completely understood the implications.

“Does this mean ...?” he asked, still not wanting to believe the answer.

Snape nodded.

“I don’t suppose you would be willing to tell her?” His hopeful look quickly fell at Snape’s mutinous glare. “I didn’t think so. Well, no time like the present.”

With one last glance at Snape – who shook his head emphatically – Dumbledore gently knocked on the bedroom door.

“Hermione. May I speak with you for a moment, dear?”

The door cracked open and Dumbledore slipped through.

Minutes passed and Snape was beginning to wonder if she’d killed the Headmaster.

Her voice rang out, echoing off the walls of the small chamber. “What?”

The rather loud thump of a tome being dropped confirmed Snape’s suspicion that Potter hadn’t been reading and had, in fact, been asleep with a book in his lap. 

The bedroom door flew open and Dumbledore backed out, hands up as if warding off danger. “I’m sorry, my dear, it’s the only answer we’ve found ...”

“I’m sure it is, you sick bastard.” She stood in the doorway, wet hair caressing her furious face. She must have taken another shower. Snape noticed her legs were bare below the gargantuan sweatshirt.

She glared at the four men in her living room. “Have you picked the poor sot? Drawn straws, loser gets stuck with taking the know-it-all to bed?”

Potter and Weasley exchanged glances, unsure about what was happening.

“Of course not, Hermione. It should be your choice.” Dumbledore tried to sound reassuring.

“My choice? My choice would be no one, you old fool.” Her gaze found Snape and he felt a chill race up his spine. She began to stalk toward him and he suddenly felt ... not fear, surely. Apprehension?

“What’s your say in all this?”

“Is there someone you would like us to owl? Someone you would feel comfortable with?” Snape offered. The distaste was plain in his voice. “Potter? Weasley?”

She stopped a few feet away from him. She looked, really looked for the first time since she had reemerged from her room, at the four men. It was true. Her first time was really going to be because of this stupid potion. 

“It will just keep getting worse, right? I’ll go mad.”

Snape nodded, no point in hiding the truth from her.

Hermione covered her face in both hands and forced herself to draw in deep, calming breaths. She peeked over her fingers, looking from face to face. Finally she made a decision, her hand dropping to her sides.

“Fine. Let’s get it over with.”

The men traded anxious glances, who was she talking to?

“Harry.” Snape tensed when she called Potter’s name. She wasn’t really going waste her first time on him, was she? 

“Ron.” 

_Not the idiot, please, not the idiot._

“Albus.”

_That is wrong on so many levels._

“I think you should all leave. Professor Snape and I need to discuss some things.”

Snape wasn’t sure who was more surprised, the other men or him. 

Potter stepped forward. “Really, ‘Mione. I’m not exactly sure what’s going on, but if you need help I’m willing. We’ll get through this together. You don’t need to settle for Snape.”

_Settle?_ Snape ran through a list of hexes in his head trying to pinpoint the one least likely to cause the Headmaster to chastise him.

Hermione’s look would have been comical if not for the murderous glint in her eye. “Settle? Willing? Excuse me, Harry Potter, if I refuse your oh-so-generous offer. How kind of you to offer yourself like some sacrificial lamb. I think not. I want a man, not a boy. A man who can make me tremble at his touch.

“I’ve spent years watching those fingers, thinking about their touch. I want his hands on me, Harry, not yours. I want Severus.”


	5. Leveling the Playing Field

**Parvus Obitus**

**Leveling the Playing Field**

Dumbledore quickly ushered the still-protesting boys out of the room and, with one last apologetic look at Snape, closed the door.

Snape watched the trio leave. Hermione's talk of men versus boys had served to illustrate that while Messrs. Potter and Weasley would always be boys in Snape's estimation, she was definitely a woman.

An intelligent woman whom he admired. A complex woman whom he felt some attraction for. A woman who was currently looking at him as if he were the last chocolate biscuit in the tin and, frankly, it was a bit intimidating.

He moved to stand behind the couch, hoping she wouldn't see it as the tactical move it was. Judging from the sudden tilt to her lips, he wasn't as subtle as he had hoped.

He wasn't accustomed to being on the defensive and found that he didn't like it one bit.

"Ms. Granger," he began.

Her unladylike snort interrupted him.

Unconsciously he drew himself up into the intimidating stance he used to lecture students. He glared down his long, hooked nose at her. "You have something you wish to stay?"

"Well, Professor, it seems rather silly to worry about formality at a time like this." She gestured at the room.

_She has a point, Snape. There is a very good chance that you are about to see her naked. There is some definite familiarity there._

"Silence!" He was surprised to hear his own voice echo through the room. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he fought the urge to hex someone, anyone.

Hermione glanced from his stern face to his hands and back again. A strange look entered her eyes. "Oh, you like it rough? Whatever you say, Professor, just as long as you use those wonderful hands."

The predatory gleam disappeared and Hermione dropped to the couch with groan of embarrassment. She hid her face in the seat of the couch.

Snape heard her mumble something vaguely like "I can't believe ... said that ... going to kill me ... never get my hands on his ..." 

"Excuse me, _Hermione_ , get your hands on what?"

Her head snapped up and she glared at him over the back of the couch. "That was a private conversation."

Snape laughed at the absurdity of it all.

Hermione joined him, fully aware of how silly she sounded.

Slowly the laughter faded and a tense silence crept in. Hermione's tongue slid out to wet her suddenly dry lips. Snape had the oddest urge to fidget.

"So ..." He stopped to clear his throat.

"So." She answered.

Tired of staring down at her, Snape circled the couch and sat next to Hermione. He turned to face her, mindful of her knees just inches from his thigh as she pulled her legs up beneath her.

"Hermione, are you really sure that I am the one you want to..."

"I saw you," she blurted. "That night."

She stared at her trembling hands as they smoothed her sweatshirt over her knees.

Snape was confused. "What night?"

One of her hands bridged the distance between them to rest on his thigh. She looked ready to bolt at the slightest provocation. Rather than insisting that she remove her hand from his person, which was his first inclination, Snape pretended not to notice.

The contact seemed to calm her a bit, and she was able to meet his eyes.

"What night?" he repeated, although the knowledge was already burning through him.

"The night you made the potion. Afterwards, you were in your office. I wanted to talk, make sure everything would be all right." She had an unfocused, far-away look on her face, as if she was there reliving the memory. The muscle in his thigh tensed as her fingers began to draw small circles onto the fabric of his trousers.

"I was about to announce myself when I saw your hands." Her eyes fluttered closed. The fingers of her other hand skimmed across her cheek and down the line of her neck. He watched them follow the valley between her breasts.

He felt his breath catch as her hand momentarily lingered before continuing on its journey.

"You were ... I've never seen anything like it. I couldn't help but watch."

Her hand traveled across her stomach, down her thigh to her knee. Her fingers curled around the hem of her sweatshirt and clinched.

The small circles on his thigh turned into firm, kneading strokes, and he could feel the occasional bite of her nails.

She had watched him, seen him at his most vulnerable. He wasn't sure how or what that made him feel.

"Why me?" He could hear the lack of confidence in his own voice and berated himself for it.

Snape found himself staring into deep, passion-filled eyes. Hermione leaned forward as she answered, stopping with her lips a hair's breadth from his.

"Because you called out my name. Because, for one night, you made me feel like a desirable woman instead of a genderless brain. Because I have spent the last month trying to convince myself that cornering you in the supply closet was a very bad idea.

"And what of you? Why haven't you run screaming into the night?"

He placed his arm across the back of the couch, trying not feel so much like a sophomoric adolescent getting ready to put the moves on an unsuspecting date.

In response her hand on his thigh hesitantly moved the barest fraction of a centimeter closer to what was rapidly becoming a rather pressing problem.

He shifted, widening the vee of his legs in silent invitation.

Her hand began to move again and higher brain function ceased.

There was an expectant look on her face and the steady climb of her hand slowed to a stop.

_What? She's waiting for something. Think. Kiss her ... maybe she wants to be kissed. Gods, what's my breath like?_

_No, wait. She asked a question ... and she's waiting for her answer._

_Then kiss her._

His obsidian eyes closed in anticipation as he answered her. "I brewed the potion. Therefore, I feel responsible for your dilemma. The least I can do is help you with it."

He let the warm puffs of her breath act as a beacon for his firm kiss. He leaned toward her, anticipating the contact, preparing to take her into his arms.

And fell forward into a faceful of cushion.

Her angry voice above him clued him into her sudden change of location, and with a scowl he carefully pushed himself back up to his original position.

"Responsible for me? Don't do me any favors, Severus. I thought you were different.”

She glared down at him, hands on her hips. Her face was flushed an unbecoming shade of red. 

Whatever had been holding her hair gave up and the untamed mass slid free. With a sigh of disgust she jerked her head, tossing the mess out of her face.

Snape returned her glare with one of his own. "I find your incessant need to have all the answers highly annoying, and yet I catch myself wanting to teach you more. I am irritated by your insipid talk of the newest adventures of Potter and Weasley."

She was practically vibrating with emotion. Judging from the white in her knuckles as her fists clenched, Snape figured he should consider himself lucky that her wand had yet to make an appearance.

"You ... you greasy overgrown bat."

Hermione was forced to look up as Snape stood. He leaned down slightly until his formidable nose was mere millimeters from hers. His velvety whisper blew across her trembling lips. "Know-it-all cow." 

She stuttered and Snape could almost see her searching the vast resources of her mind for a suitable retort.

He quickly cut her off by placing his hands on her shoulders. "I lie awake at night, trying to understand how you can be both frumpy and arousingly untamed at the same time. I, too, have contemplated the forbidden delights that could be found locked in the supply closet with you. I get aroused thinking of the sounds you make ... Merlin's beard, woman, you are the most infuriating person I've ever had the misfortune to meet and if we don't relieve this mind-consuming tension soon ... I. Will. Explode!"

She stared at him without speaking. Snape held his breath, certain that he'd gone too far, said too much. 

She shuddered under his hands and he prepared himself for her flight.

"I can work with that." Suddenly she pushed into him, fighting his hold to close the small distance between them.

It took him precious seconds to process the change, then he used his hands to pull her up to his kiss. His nose bounced into hers and he quickly tilted his head for a better angle only to find that she had done the same thing.

With a growl of frustration that sent a shiver through him, Hermione reached up and grasped his face firmly between her hands. She tilted her head to the other side and her open lips collided with his.

Her tongue slid across his lower lip and his quickly followed suit. There was a bit of a tussle before he managed to thrust his tongue into the moist warmth of her mouth.

Eventually air became a necessity and they broke apart. Hermione dropped to flat feet, losing several precious inches of height.

He leaned down to kiss her again and felt his back protest.

"Hermione," he panted as she skimmed along his jaw with kisses. "This is killing me."

Her moan vibrated against his skin as he nipped gently at her ear lobe. "Yes, Severus, I feel it too."

His nose nuzzled the spot just behind the curve of her ear as he whispered, "You are too damn short. My back is screaming."

She stiffened against him and pulled back to see his face. He felt a momentary pang of worry when he saw her devilish grin. She placed both hands on his chest and pushed, sending him backward and down onto the couch.

"Let's level the playing field, shall we?"

_How can she sound so sultry and mischievous at the same time?_

She bit her lip and hesitated, looking from his face to his lap and back.

He wasn't sure what she was thinking but he knew what he wanted. He wanted Hermione in his lap, as close as to him as physically possible. He wanted to kiss her, taste her, draw that swollen lip between his own teeth.

Impatiently, he grasped her hips and pulled her forward until she had to brace one knee on the cushion beside him or fall.

His upturned face and the gentle tug of his hands were all the encouragement she needed to sink onto his lap, a knee on either side of his hips.

They both froze at the unfamiliar intimacy.

With obvious uncertainty she placed her hands on his shoulders.

"What do we do now?"

It was the question of a novice and only served to arouse him further. She was untouched. The virginity of a paramour was a gift most men hungered for and one which Snape had never been given.

The few brief encounters Snape had enjoyed over the years were universally with women more experienced than he, women who were looking for a short-term relationship with a man who was capable of thinking beyond his own pleasure. What he'd lacked in handsomeness or charm he had more than made up for in willingness to learn.

Each of the small number of women he had been with had had no qualms about telling – or showing – him what they did or did not like. He had learned that different women enjoyed different things.

But what of her? What would bring Hermione pleasure? Obviously she had some experience with her own body, but Snape knew that solo encounters lacked in comparison to the hand or mouth of a lover. Fantasy, no matter how imaginative, paled against the reality of a skilled and considerate partner.

"What happens next depends on you, Hermione. What do you want?"

He let his hands roam across her back, trying to convey comfort.

Her chocolate eyes searched his face as her hands settled on the buttons of his robes. "I ... I don't really understand what I want. I _need_ to feel ... skin against skin. Please."

Snape nodded and pulled his wand out of his robes. He started to point the wand at himself and Hermione placed her hand over his. 

"Wait. Let me."

He placed his wand on the end table. "As you wish."

She made short work of the fastenings of his robe. The buttons of the white dress shirt he wore underneath were attacked with as much enthusiasm as a child unwrapping a gift.

Her intent look, the way she bit her lip in concentration, made him want to distract her.

His hands slid to her sides, his thumb grazing the side of her breasts. She jerked forward at the touch; her hips bumping into his.

He wasn’t sure if the gasp was hers or his but it was the only sound in the stillness of the room. Hermione’s eyes were wide with some emotion he could not name. Her hands stilled against his forgotten buttons. He held his breath, waiting to see what she would do.

Then a look he knew well appeared, it was the same look she got whenever he asked her a difficult question or gave her a mysterious ingredient to identify. It was her “intrigued” look.

Slowly and deliberately she rolled her hips against his, her head tilted down to watch the movements of her body.

There was a sharp hiss as Snape sucked desperately needed air through his clenched teeth.

He could feel her warmth pressed against him even though the layers of clothing. Each roll of her hips rubbed his aching erection against her.

“Oh.” She looked up and caught his gaze. “It feels so...”

She moved again; loving the feel of his hands tightening at her sides and the delicious friction building between her legs.

Snape dropped his hands to her hips. Gently he guided her movements, setting an even pace.

Once he was certain she had found the rhythm he gave his hands free license to roam again.

Pulling her hair back to expose the graceful column of her neck, he leaned forward and placed his lips against her satin skin. His tongue flicked out to gather a bead of moisture left from her shower.

She moaned – head thrown back, eyes closed – as he continued to kiss and lick his way to the neckline of her sweatshirt. She braced a hand against his shoulder and sank the other into the softness of his hair, urging him on. 

She was losing herself in the moment. Snape hid a small smile against her neck, it was quite apparent that Hermione was going to apply the same enthusiasm that drove him out of his mind when she was a student to this new endeavor. For once, Snape considered her willingness to devote herself whole-heartedly to a challenge to be a godsend.

The fine hairs on her thigh tickled his palm as he ran his hand down the length of her leg, enjoying the play of muscle under skin as she moved.

His hand reversed its journey, pausing to slip under the hem of her shirt before continuing up the back of her thigh. His fingers cupped the bare flesh of her bum.

Snape used his other hand to pull her into a deep kiss.

Her hands slid into the opening of his shirt.

He moved, an unpracticed half-turn-shift that brought them to a wonderfully horizontal position on the couch. He pulled back just enough to look at her. “You’re not wearing knickers.”

Her nod was absentminded, her eyes watching the movements of her hands on his chest. One short nailed finger ran across his nipple and she gave a delighted gasp as it puckered.

“I was in the shower when Albus knocked.”

She leaned up and licked the hollow of his throat with one long, sure stroke.

He didn’t even try to hold back his response. His mouth ground into hers, his tongue demanding the entrance she readily gave.

Her hands were in his hair, legs wrapped around his waist, when she panted into his ear. “Clothes.”

He agreed; clothing was rapidly becoming a nuisance. 

A less-than-graceful scramble later and he was standing beside the couch wrenching open buttons and shrugging out of his clothes.

He was thankful his back was to her. A flush crept into his cheeks as he pulled off his shoes and socks. His hand hesitated at the last button of the fly of his trousers.

_This was it. The moment all less-than-perfect men dread, myself more than most. Will she laugh, to see me in all my supposed glory, eager and more than a little desperate? Will she be repulsed?_

A large ball of white material sailed past him and landed in a heap near Hermione’s desk.

Her sweatshirt.

His trousers joined her shirt in a matter of seconds, leaving him clad only in a pair of emerald-green silk boxers.

When he turned she was primly sitting on the couch with a large throw pillow clutched in a death grip in front of her. Her shy expression quickly changed to one of subtle amusement as she noticed his style of undergarment. She raised an eyebrow. 

“If only I had known what was under those austere black robes...”

His flush deepened, and Hermione’s eyes widened in understanding. “Those are your company pants, aren’t they?”

She gave him a coquettish grin. “Why, Professor Snape, if I didn’t know better I would think you came to my rooms expecting this.”

He gave her a wolfish grin. “Let us just say that I have learned the value of being prepared.”

Her shyness returned as she looked anywhere but the prominent tent in his boxers. Her grip on the pillow tightened. “I’m sorry. I’m so confused right now. One second I’m scared stiff at the thought of what I’m about to do. The next I have an all most uncontrollable urge to jump you, consequences be damned.”

Snape sat next to her and tilted her chip up until she was looking him in the face. His fingers flexed against her skin.

“Are you scared of me?”

Hermione swallowed and wet her lips before answering. “I haven’t been afraid of you since I was a fifth year. It’s the loss of control that scares me. 

“I always assumed that my first time would be sweet and gentle and ... and safe. It’s not like that. It’s wild and...”

He placed his finger against her lips, silencing her. “We’ll get to sweet and gentle later.”

“Later?”

Snape leaned down to capture her lips in another kiss. “Much later.”

The pillow fell to the floor, forgotten.

Her hands trembled as they pulled against his shoulders, urging him to follow her down as she reclined. A little   
maneuvering and suddenly he was above her.

A breathless moan escaped him against the skin of her neck when she shifted her legs to cradle him between her thighs. Only a thin layer of silk separated him from heaven, and Severus ached to be inside her. He had enough knowledge of his   
own body to know that if he gave in and took her now the act would be over in a heartbeat; he was far too gone to be able to hold back for long. If she was to have any satisfaction at all...

He traced the line of her collarbone with his lips. Both of her hands clutched at the back of his head, fingers wrapped in his long hair. She exerted the barest hint of pressure and he followed her cue. His hand cupped the soft skin of her breast. He palmed the pale globe in gentle circles, paying careful attention to her nipple. 

The tip of his tongue flicked against the turgid bud and she arched off the couch. Her hands were at once pulling him closer and pushing him away. 

She was trying to talk, disjointed syllables that made no sense. Again, he silenced her with a long finger across her lips. 

As he sucked her nipple between his lips, she pulled his finger between hers. The lightening bolt of sensation arched from his finger straight to his groin and his hips thrust forward. 

“Soon.” He whispered against her breast.

“Now.” She whimpered around his finger before nipping at the skin. 

Another involuntary thrust decided the matter for him. 

He pulled his finger from between her lips and skimmed it down her body, pausing only to torment her untouched breast before continuing on. His hand parted her damp curls. He could tell that she wanted to protest that she was ready now, but he parted her folds and she could no longer say anything.

He brushed against her clit and her body tensed. He could sense that she was close to the edge. He set a rhythm, his mouth at her breast pulling in counterpoint with his fingers below. Her body was wire taut, her toes curling against the back of his thighs, little jerks with every stroke of his fingers.

He leaned forward and claimed her mouth. He could hear the building urgency in her gasps as she reached for climax. He placed his lips against her ear and sent her over the edge. 

“Come for me, Hermione.”

Short nails scratched against his back as she screamed out his name. As the orgasm continued to shake her he slid a finger inside. Instinctively she parted her legs wider and arched against him, driving his finger deeper. She bucked against him as he inserted a second finger. The gentle in-and-out of his fingers was driving her mad, especially in contrast to the slight sting of his teeth as he nipped at the underside of her jaw. 

Hermione tugged on his hair until he looked up at her. There was no question what she wanted. He had been hoping to make it to the bedroom but the rather insistent way she slid her hand into his boxers proved to be his downfall. Her hand closed around his shaft and he called out her name.

They twisted together, working the last piece of clothing off in the process, until the only thing between them was a fine sheen of sweat. 

He snagged a small pillow off the end of the couch and tucked it under her hips. His erection pressed against her opening and he hesitated. Hermione’s hands pulled at him, trying to bring him closer but he resisted. He dropped his forehead to hers and looked her in the eye.

“You’re very tight and this is going to hurt. I’m sorry. I’m not sure how long I can ... hold out. I’ll make it up to you.”

She was panting, breasts pressing against his chest. “Take me, Severus. Fuck me.”

He gripped her hips fiercely and buried himself in her. She cried out as he broke through the barrier of her maidenhead. He wanted to slow down, to stop until she was ready, but the need for release was too great. His body found its natural rhythm and he gave in, pulling out and sliding back into her wet heat. He could feel his climax building. He could feel her hands on his back pulling him closer, could hear her moaning his name with each thrust. 

Then he was there, his body rigid as his seed spilled into her. Her name was on his lips and he would have said it aloud but her mouth was against his, her tongue seeking entrance. He continued to thrust against her, wanting to prolonge the feelings he was experiencing. He reached down and found the sensitive bundle of nerves above where they were joined. A few strokes of his finger later and she found release again. 

Their breathing slowly returned to normal, and he realized that his weight might be squashing her. Carefully he disengaged himself and stood, offering his hand to her. 

Snape waited until she was standing beside him to pull her into a deep kiss. Satisfied that she wasn’t going to run away screaming now that they had actually had sex and the potion had been counteracted, hopefully, he was unsure of what to do.

Hermione gave him a small half-smile and tried to hide a yawn behind her hand. “I’m exhausted. I think I need to go to bed.” With one last shy look at the Potions Master she crossed the room and disappeared into her bedroom.

Snape stared at the empty door way. 

_That’s it. Just an “I’m tired, get out.” This is why I’m not in a relationship._ He rubbed his hands across his face and began to search for his scattered clothing. _I don’t know why I’m so upset. I’m sure I would be the envy of men everywhere if they knew I’ve just been used for sex._ He glared at the fireplace with his hands on his hips, boxers hanging out of one clinched fist. _I wasn’t that bad, was I? Should I tell her I can do better? No. No self-doubt. She’s the one who picked me. Maybe she really is tired?_

The sound of a throat clearing pulled him out of his inner debate and he turned to find Hermione standing in the bedroom doorway. She was still completely bare. Her voice was unsure. “Aren’t you coming? I don’t know about you but I need a nap before we ... well, get around to much later.”

The boxers landed on the ground in a pool of green silk. “I could be persuaded to rest, if you feel the need.” 

The bedroom door shut behind them. 

An hour later, a green flash burst from the fireplace. A grey bearded face with glasses propped on his forehead and a hand clasped firmly across his eyes appeared in the flames. “Severus? Is everything all right? It’s been quite some time and the boys and I have become concerned. Severus? 

“Oh, do shut up, Harry. I’m not going to look and neither are you. Get back.

“Severus?”


	6. Epilogue

**Parvus Obitus**

**Epilogue**

Snape eyed the festivities in the Great Hall with distaste. Classes had been canceled, and the entire castle was nearly vibrating in celebration.

The feast was magnificent. One would expect no less for a milestone as grand as the one year anniversary of the final fall of Voldemort.

It had been a year since Voldemort had escaped his holding cell only to be tracked down by a mob led by Potter. A year since Voldemort and Potter had fallen, their magics linked until the last tremors of the Avada Kedavra freed them from each other. Potter died that night.

And some say, like a phoenix he was reborn.

Those who were there knew the truth, the real reason Potter was currently enjoying the feast and not rotting in a hole.

Hermione. The irony being, of course, that the only thing that might have saved Riddle, that did save Potter, was a Muggle-born’s knowledge of cardiopulmonary resuscitation. Hermione’s quick thinking while others wept kept Potter’s body oxygenated and viable until Pomfrey and Snape managed to coax him back to the land of the living.

_All hail Wonder Boy Potter. Don’t mind the rest of us, we’re just support staff. All we did was bring him back to life, a minor pittance._

Potter stood at the cries for a speech. He did have the grace to look for permission from the man seated on his right.

Which Dumbledore graciously granted.

Snape rolled his eyes and tuned out the words. It was nothing he hadn’t heard hundreds of times before.

The seat next to Snape was empty, had been since she left a month ago.

She had learned everything he had been willing to teach. There had been no reason to continue the apprenticeship other than his selfish need to be near her. Even with the strain of returning to a strictly professional relationship after that night, of awkward pauses whenever they accidentally touched, of formality forced for the sake of his sanity… it still hurt to send her away.

She left just a few days shy of the anniversary that truly held some value to Snape.

Hermione had led him to her room that night, waited until he had settled into the unfamiliar bed and curled up against him. He had lain awake long after she’d slipped into deep sleep.

It had been a night of firsts for them both. She had given her body for the first time, and he feared that he might have given his heart.

He didn’t love her, couldn’t love anyone while his two masters still owned him. But he cared about her and that was something he had never admitted before.

Then he panicked and ruined everything.

He could still see the hurt in her eyes when he had blurted out some meaningless garbage about she being his apprentice and their shared intimacy wouldn’t influence that. He had meant to reassure them both that they could separate the personal from the professional. But the moment the words left his mouth he knew that wasn’t how it would sound. 

She had stared at him, blanket clutched to her naked breast like a shield. He’d tried to elaborate on his position of power over her and how some might view what happened as an abuse of that power, but his voice disappeared after a moment and he could only watch the blush form on her cheeks.

“I see,” she said so quietly he had had to strain to hear her. “Well. I thank you for your assistance, Professor, and I see your point. Such a relationship between master and apprentice would be inappropriate.”

She had refused to look in him the eye after that.

Somehow he had stumbled back to his room, only to find Dumbledore and the remaining two-thirds of the fabled Dream Team sprawled across his sitting room. The boys jerked awake when he let the door close with more force than strictly necessary.

Their incessant questions were quelled by the Headmaster who had taken one look at Snape’s weary face and surmised the Potions Master’s need for solitude.

“Ms. Granger’s dilemma has been resolved? Good, good. That is all we need to know. Come along, gentlemen, I have heard that a sunrise as viewed from Greenhouse six can be awe-inspiring. I suggest we find out.”

Dumbledore ushered Weasley and Potter into the corridor and quickly pulled the door shut, separating them from himself and Snape. A wave of his hand and the door had locked.

Snape had squirmed under the Headmaster’s scrutiny for a long moment before Dumbledore spoke. “In her time of need she turned to you, not Harry or Ron. I wonder why? Most curious. Even more curious is your willingness to help, my boy. You should ponder the significance of that.”

With one last meaningful look, Dumbledore opened the door. “Harry! Ron! What a surprise? I didn’t think you even knew where Severus’ rooms were?”

Weasley’s voice had echoed through the hall. “You’re the one who bloody brought us here!”

Dumbledore’s voice faded as he escorted the boys down the corridor. “Did I? Are you sure?”

Not wanting to be alone with his thought any longer, Snape had changed into clean clothes and hid in his lab.

Hermione had appeared several hours later. They had eased into careful conversation. The first hour set the tone for the next eleven months. Out loud she was once again Ms. Granger. He made a point to avoid physical contact with her, and she with him.

Once in a great while he would suddenly turn or look up and catch her watching him with a familiar look of longing. Familiar because it was similar to the one he wore when he knew she couldn’t see him. 

Invariably those nights would be filled with extra torment. He would lay awake, aching, with her voice echoing through his mind calling his name.

Sometimes he felt like a dying man who had been giving a glimpse of salvation before being thrust into Hades, doomed to spend eternity known how close he had come to Heaven. 

A crystalline tinkle brought Snape out of his revere. McGonagall tapped her goblet once more to ensure everyone’s attention as the Headmaster waited to make an announcement. 

“It is indeed an honour that so many have chose to spend this day of celebration here with us at Hogwart’s School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” He nodded to indicate the several dozen people seated amongst the students. 

“We have been awaiting the arrival of another small group who had met with an unfortunate delay. I believe they should be arriving any mom… aah, there they are.” 

The doors opened to reveal the entire Weasley clan looking flustered. 

Snape had been ignoring the little voice in his head that had wondered why Weasley hadn’t been at his customary place alongside Potter. If he had questioned Weasley’s whereabouts he would have to admit that _she_ was also missing, and the implications were more than he could bear at the moment. 

Room was quickly made for the new guests. Arthur Weasley smiled apologetically and stuttered a softly spoken excuse, causing those nearest him to breakout in laughter. 

Ron Weasley hesitated in the doorway as if waiting for something.

Moments later Snape felt his mouth go dry as Hermione glided into view. She was wearing golden-colored robes that seemed to mold to the curves he remembered nightly in his dreams. 

She stopped next to Weasley and gripped his hand. The look they exchanged was packed with meaning and Snape couldn’t stand to see it. 

He reached for his glass and briefly considered walking out.

“Now that everyone is here, I have a few more announcements.” Snape turned to watch Dumbledore speak, anything to keep from seeing her talking to Weasley. 

“As most of you already know, Professor Artemis will be leaving at the end of this semester, leaving the Defense Against the Dark Arts position open. We have within these halls a most excellent candidate for the position. Professor Snape, the job is yours if you wish it.” 

Snape kept his face carefully blank as his mind raced. _Dumbledore is handing me the DADA. Why? Everyone is watching me, waiting for a response. Potter even has a stupid grin on his face._

Still reeling from the unexpected announcement, Snape managed to offer a small nod. 

Dumbledore smile in return, before turning to face his audience. “That leaves us with another vacancy for which I’ve already had an inquiry. I would like to introduce our new Potions Mistress, Professor Hermione Granger.”

Dumbledore nodded to someone behind Snape.

Snape’s eyes closed as her voice washed over him. "Thank you, Headmaster.”

Dumbledore continued talking but the words meant nothing to Snape, too lost in his own frantic thoughts.

A light pressure on the back of his hand brought him back to his surroundings. He looked at the hand touching his own, followed her arm up to her shoulder and with a deep breath looked at her face.

Her smile was tentative, as if she wasn’t sure how he would react. “Is it all right if I sit here, Professor?”

He bit back the sarcastic response on the tip of his tongue and nodded. “Of course, Ms. ... Professor Granger.”

Her smile faltered. “I had hoped now that we were colleagues you might be persuaded to address me by my given name.” She sat in the chair and looked at him as if contemplating something. Finally she drew in a deep breath and spoke. “Since we are on _equal_ footing, I wanted to ask if you had any tips for the new Potions instructor. Maybe we could get together for a drink after this and you could pass on a word or two of advice?” Her lower lip slid between her teeth.

It was a tell-tale sign Snape recognized. She was nervous.

Her emphasis on the word “equal” did not go unnoticed. The lead weight in his stomach lifted as her message became clear. They were equals now, no more student/teacher, master/apprentice. They were peers.

Snape tested the waters, refusing to give in to the surge of hope just yet. “It may be very late by the time we finish our discussion. Will Mr. Weasley be willing to wait to escort you home?”

Hermione glanced at the boisterous group of redheads. “Molly and Arthur were kind enough to let me stay at the Burrow since my apprenticeship ended. I traveled with them tonight, but, I must admit, I had hoped to find a room here at the castle for the night.” She looked at him from the corner of her eye. 

“I am sure Albus would be delighted to find accommodations for you. Minerva must be overjoyed that one of her own is coming back.”

She leveled another contemplative look at him. “She seemed pleased when Albus mentioned the possibility ... shortly after you informed him that my apprenticeship was ending.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed as he glared at the Headmaster. “Why is this the first I’ve heard of it?”

“I won’t even begin to presume that I understand the workings of our Headmaster’s mind. He made it sound as if the arrangement met with your approval. I was given to understand that the DADA was something you wanted, that was the only reason I agreed to accept Potions.” 

“I did ... do want the Defense position. I’m just not comfortable with the level of plotting that seems to be going on behind my back.” He eyed her suspiciously.

“It wouldn’t be plotting if we did it with your permission, Severus.” Dumbledore stood next to them and placed a hand on Snape’s shoulder. “Do stop giving Hermione a difficult time, she’s only done what I asked her do to. Things are starting to wind down, now would be a good time for you to show her around her new workplace. Don’t you think?” The older wizard winked at Hermione before walking off to shake hands with someone else.

Hermione opened her mouth to say something and ended up shaking her head in defeat.

“That is what you have to look forward to. Bunch of meddlesome busybodies.”

She placed her hand on the back of his again. “They do care about you, Severus.”

“That just makes it worse because then I feel guilty about hexing them. Was anyone else involved in all of this?”

Hermione started to shake her head in denial before slowly nodding. “Ron and Harry.”

“Pardon?”

She looked at her hand on the back of his.

“Every time I started to doubt myself, they would give me hope. They encouraged me to seek you out tonight.”

Snape stilled. His words were very stiff. “Why would they do that?” 

Her thumb rubbed against the back of his hand. “Because they want me to be happy. And for some reason being with you makes me happy.” She tactfully refused to mention the three months and various minor curses and hexes it had taken for the boys to come around.

“Is that why Potter was grinning like a buffoon at me earlier?”

“Quite likely. Harry’s never been known for his subtlety.” 

He turned his hand over so that he could wrap his fingers around hers for a moment before he pulled free. “I don’t understand why Albus thinks you need a tour. Nothing has changed since you left. Might I suggest we adjourn for that drink?”

Her face lit up with her smile. “That would be lovely.”

The End


End file.
